


everything i wanted

by thinkbucket



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, How to take a sad scene and make it ten times more angsty, I wanted to make this cute, anyone wanna teach me how to finish a story, i live for angst, realized it was impossible
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:07:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22680706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinkbucket/pseuds/thinkbucket
Summary: "What more do you want?”"Everything."
Relationships: Tissaia de Vries/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 91
Kudos: 237





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rewritten 3/16

Tissaia de Vries is furious. 

The Rectoress of Aretuza does not take disrespect lightly. And if there is anything that Yennefer of Vengerberg excels at, if there is one thing that comes as naturally as breathing, it is contempt. 

It has been years, decades, since she has seen the best student she has ever had the displeasure of teaching. For years, Yennefer has dodged all of Tissaia’s attempts to reach out. To be fair, there were not too many. The Rectoress does not tolerate rejection well. After the first two letters went by unanswered, Tissaia only sent brief and curt messages only when absolutely necessary. 

Of course, those also were disregarded. 

And so now, with the risk of angering the chapter and getting herself expelled from the Brotherhood, Yennefer has left Tissaia with no other option but to approach her in person. The older woman is doing her best to sway Yennefer back to sense. 

And it is not going well. 

“You’re afraid I’ll be everything you could never be. Without you. Which is the rub. You only want me to do well so long as you had your hand in it.”

Tissaia bristles. It’s almost funny, how wrong she is. It should be funny, Tissaia thinks, but instead it’s infuriating. For an accusation so wildly false why does it bother her so much? 

Tissaia wants Yennefer to be everything she could never be herself. Knows that she can be. With or without her makes little difference; but where would the girl be now had she not been brought out of the pigsty? Where would she have ended up had she been left at the mercies of an unloving father and a scornful village? Tissaia is not so foolish to think herself a savior, but perhaps she’s owed at least a little credit for rescuing the girl from certain pain and abuse.

It was impossible to spare Yennefer from pain. It’s a natural part of life, unavoidable. But she’d done her best to shield the young mage from the crueler of fates. Instead, she brought her to her knees and rebuilt her to be resilient. Now however, had the Rectoress left the girl where she found her, she wonders if maybe fate would have been kinder to both of them. 

“How did we get this way? I gave you all I could give. What more do you want?”

Tissaia has always wanted Yennefer to succeed, how could she not wished success for any of her students? But the girl seems to have never learned how to look beyond herself. Instead, she struggles against limitations she perceives to hold her back and constraints she imposes on herself.

She doesn’t know when exactly it was that the girl she purchased for a few coin had turned from a precious student to an irreplaceable part of her life. It wasn’t as though they had contact for years at a time, even. How had this young woman come to mean so much to her? 

Tissaia de Vries knows every single student she’s ever taught. She easily recalls the ones that ascended and the face of each that was better suited to the pools of Aretuza. And she remembers every single encounter with Yennefer of Vengerberg. Once young, afraid, and hurting, the woman had blossomed into a furious, bitter, immensely powerful and equally dissatisfied mage. Throughout her education at Aretuza, Yennefer proved to be a gifted student beyond her peers, though it was not immediately obvious. Her stubborn willfulness had always been her downfall, thinking that she knew best. She’d pick and choose what she wanted to learn, despite the Rectoress’ best efforts.

But Yennefer never cared for Tissaia’s sort of knowledge. She knew that quite well. Tissaia was more interested in preservation, protecting what she worked so hard to build. Yennefer only cared about consuming - to the point of destruction.

Sometimes she feels like she failed the younger woman. And when Yennefer’s eyes pierce through her, seeing only what Yennefer wants to see and not what Tissaia keeps desperately trying to say, the Rectoress knows that in Yennefer’s eyes, she has.

Yennefer of Vengerberg is without a doubt the most powerful mage she has ever taught, stronger even perhaps than Tissaia herself. But Yennefer is more likely to kill herself attempting to achieve what she perceives to be greatness. And it will be Tissaia’s fault for not being able to show her that greatness as a mage isn’t something you just become. It is something embraced. Yennefer will go about all the wrong channels unless she is stopped.

“Everything.”

With that single word, Tissaia understands it all.

Yennefer, for all her sharp thorns and high walls, has always been an open book. Even with so little words said, even if she guards her mind so that her thoughts cannot be read, her emotions run strong and they say everything. The girl had been so accustomed to being hated and used, so as she grew she adapted and became hateful and using. What better way to conquer your fears than to become them?

It's clear now. Aretuza would only hold her back simply because it didn’t give her the answers she wanted to hear. Yennefer had taken everything Tissaia could give but it was always insufficient, because as long as she perceived Tissaia as being better, she could never see herself as good enough. Until Tissaia voices her approval, until the moment she acknowledges just how truly magnificent she knows her former pupil to be, Yennefer will always feel inferior. None of the silent praise or the ambiguous compliments would do. Yennefer craves recognition.

She would have been far better off in Nilfgaard.

Aretuza, and Tissaia, no longer held nothing of value for the younger mage. She took everything they offered, bled them dry. Tissaia had long withheld her praise and admiration for Yennefer, for fear it would stunt her growth. Now she sees her mistake, but it’s much too late to correct.

“You may go Rectoress. I have business to attend to.”

And Tissaia de Vries walks away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to write this differently and be a little less canon compliant but this is what happened.
> 
> Also, seriously entertaining writing an alternate ending to this, starting with the word, “Wait.”
> 
> On tumblr @tiredthinkbucket come be a part of the shitshow that is my posting


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s so dangerous, stepping into this game Yennefer has trapped herself in. But how else will Tissaia be able to bring her out? There’s no other way she can save Yennefer from herself at this point.
> 
> (That’s what she will keep telling herself.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna finish the fic but then the chapter said no

“Wait.”

Tissaia has already conjured a portal and has one foot through when she hears the word. She stops; she does not turn around. If Yennefer is to throw more accusations, Tissaia will not give her the satisfaction of seeing how affected she is by them. 

Oh how Yennefer so clearly thrives on pain. What more can she possibly have to say? It is beyond clear how she feels about Aretuza and its Rectoress. And while Yennefer loves nothing more than to take her own sorrows and manifest them in others, Tissaia will not allow herself to fall victim to this twisted game her former pupil loves to play. 

She steels herself for the onslaught she is sure will come. 

Yennefer is silent. 

It feels a little like the calm before a hurricane. Tissaia closes the portal. 

She feels the tension in her chest. Constricting. She tries to reach out, to see Yennefer’s mind, but it’s defenses are rock solid. 

There is a moment when nothing happens. Yennefer still has not said anything else, which makes the older sorceress almost question if anything was truly said at all. Perhaps it was merely felt.

Tissaia slowly turns and dares look at Yennefer, who is still seated but whose face is clearly seen in the mirror. A picture of beauty. Etched with pain. 

This is not what Tissaia was prepared for. 

Their eyes meet and she suddenly feels a pang of guilt. She fights against it. This is want Yennefer wants. 

“Why do you do this to me?” Yennefer grits out in frustration. 

Tissaia tilts her head just slightly, cocks a single slender brow. She can’t divine the meaning of Yennefer’s words, and she will not stoop to Yennefer’s level of accusations and blame. She knows she should have done better by her student, should not have enabled this crave for power, her hatred for the Brotherhood, but she will not be belittled for it.

“Why do I do what, Yennefer?” 

A snarl. “It’s as if you are constantly mocking me, no matter what I do. Can I never do anything right in your eyes? I’m always too soft and when I toughen up, I’m too hard. I’m too weak and if I try to be stronger, it’s too much. I’m always such a disappointment to you. Which is it, Rectoress?”

Tissaia stares. This woman, so fiercely headstrong and defiant, still cares so much about what Tissaia thinks about her. “Does it really matter?”

“Why is it that I’m never enough for you?” The moment that the question leaves her lips, Yennefer’s eyes widen slightly and she bites a lip, as though she had said something she hadn’t meant to. But then her jaw clenches and she breaks eye contact in the mirror. Instead, she focuses on taking off the earrings she had carefully selected earlier and flings them onto her vanity. 

Tissaia sighs. Yennefer could block her out mentally as much as she wished, but she never could control her emotions. 

This wasn’t the game Tissaia had thought it was. This was Yennefer playing herself. 

“My dear, since when do you really care about what I think? You are always so satisfied pretending to know everything, you never cared so much for the truth.”

She approaches the younger mage, still seated and busying herself with finding a necklace once more. She always had despised being told the truth. 

“If I told you what I truly thought, I doubt you would even believe me.” 

That causes Yennefer to pause for a moment. But she resumes rustling in her drawer. Desperate for a distraction. Tissaia reaches over Yennefer’s shoulders, hands brushing as she selects a black choker. Carefully, she draws it up to the other woman’s neck, glancing at Yennefer’s eyes in the mirror. But Yennefer is focused on Tissaia’s fingers, and her mouth parts slightly. Her eyes flutter closed once as Tissaia fingers drag across the back of her neck. But they open quickly and lock onto Tissaia’s. 

This is what Yennefer wants. She craves Tissaia’s attention and approval. She’d always been so reactive to the smallest of touches from Tissaia, who pretended not to notice. But now?

Tissaia will never say it out loud, could never, but the soft spot in her heart she’d always held for Yennefer had grown into an empty ache. This beautiful, proud, excellent woman would never listen. How could she not see? Tissaia has done so much for her, risked her position with the Brotherhood multiple times, even now, being here. She’s tried so hard to guide this misguided woman, who would rather chase chances than the truth. 

She latches the choker but she lets her hands linger. 

It’s so dangerous, stepping into this game Yennefer has trapped herself in. But how else will she be able to bring her out? There’s no other way she can save Yennefer from herself at this point. 

(That’s what she will keep telling herself.)

Because despite all her talk, Yennefer clearly still cares. Maybe not about Aretuza, but definitely for Tissaia. If the hitch in her breath is anything to go by. 

“The only person mocking you is yourself,” Tissaia whispers, eyes still ensnared by violet ones. “Only you can free the victim in the mirror.” Tissaia once said these same words, and Yennefer knows it, because she takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. Tissaia is going to do everything in her power to help free the woman she knows Yennefer is capable of being. A woman without the bitterness, without the rage, not held back by petty emotions. But Yennefer must also complete her part. 

“Imagine the most powerful woman in the world,” Tissaia murmurs. 

Eyes still closed, Yennefer replies, “I have always wanted it to be me, but every time, it’s you.”

“And you will never be satisfied if you continue chasing after what you think is impossible. You are searching for the answers to the wrong questions.”

“I don’t know where to begin,” and the echoes of words said ages ago tears at Tissaia’s heart once more.

Tissaia drops her hands. 

“Return to Aretuza. And I will help you find them.” 

And when Tissaia walks away she does not turn back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is turning out to be a longer fic than I meant for it to be
> 
> On tumblr @tiredthinkbucket pls send help


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE THE RATING CHANGE
> 
> I know this is like really short but also this is the first time I’ve posted anything like this so feel free to idk say something encouraging lmao I have no idea what I’m doing

Yennefer does not follow. 

Instead, she hosts an orgy. 

She revels in the bodies writhing in pleasure around her, but does not personally partake in the activities. She watches, she listens, but she cannot unfeel the fingertips that dragged across her neck, the palms that brushed against her own hands. She casually observes a woman’s tongue drag along the neck of another and shudders. She can almost feel Tissaia’s breath hot on her ear. 

She shakes herself. She will not be reduced to this. She will not pine for a woman that she loathes as much as she craves. 

And then she meets a Witcher. 

He is handsome. Very. Perhaps exactly what she needs to take her mind off of the Rectoress. But the whole time they speak, the more she realizes, the more she aches for the very person she cannot have. This Witcher, this Geralt, could be a quite suitable replacement, but she knows that she will only imagine another woman’s face, her hands, her body the entire time. 

He is desperate to save his companion from the workings of a djinn, and in another life, perhaps Yennefer would attempt to turn this to her advantage. But today she only hears Tissaia reprimanding her for always looking for the answers to the wrong questions, and she can’t help but wonder if Tissaia could really help her achieve the power she seeks.

She heals the bard and sends them on their way. She’s heard stories of mages who have died trying to harness the power of djinns, and while she knows she is stronger, and so much more capable than so many mages, she also knows the exact face Tissaia would have when she hears that Yennefer achieved her quest for ultimate power by surrendering her body to a djinn. It would be one of such extreme disappointment. 

So instead, she surrenders herself to her own pleasures. 

Instead of disappointment and scorn that so often graces the Rectoress’ face, Yennefer imagines it contorted in pleasure below her own as they grind their way to bliss. Her hand squeezes a breast, she pinches her nipple, hard, twists, and she cries out as she grinds down onto her hand. She imagines teeth clamping down on her nipple instead of her finger tips, twists harder, her nails might be drawing blood and she groans as she comes. Equal parts ecstasy and agony. 

Because she hates the face she pictures, the voice she hears, and yet cannot get enough of it. She wants to stop desiring this woman who always acts like she’s so superior, who so often views her as a child. 

She cries.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE BE AWAre chapter one was rewritten. It doesn’t change like the essentials but it’s just less shitty

Tissaia is in the middle of a lesson when she senses Yennefer portal into Aretuza. She does not pause while the girls practice their recitations, but she does allow herself the smallest of victorious smiles. Even now, however, she knows the battle has only just begun. Yennefer is stubborn and willful, and she is not going to make this easy for either of them. But Yennefer has come willingly. 

That is enough for now. 

Yet as much as Tissaia wants make sure Yennefer isn’t making Aretuza one with chaos, she has students to teach and an institution to run. It’s been a month since she’s seen the other sorceress, a few hours is not so difficult. 

In theory. 

In reality, everywhere Tissaia turns, she remembers a far younger Yennefer, with a twisted spine and bandaged wrists, in this very room, rehearsing the same spells as the girls here now are. Her progress had been so slow initially, compared with the other girls. She used to allow her frustrations to overcome her. Still does, in fact. But now, the consequences are far greater. 

A month without reply. Tissaia has not been holding her breath. She has kept tabs on Yennefer, as always, but it hadn’t seemed likely that the girl would be returning to the school. And while Tissaia is pleased that Yennefer appears to have taken her up on her offer, she is also a little unprepared. 

Yennefer has been spiraling. 

No half decent teacher enjoys witnessing a former student struggle. And it is even more painful to watch as the student thinks they have succeeded, but in reality is still so far from their true potential. But such has always been the case with Yennefer of Vengerberg. Did Tissaia truly expect any different? Does she now?

By her blood alone, the girl is innately gifted. By her studies and her determination, she is magnificent. By her insatiability, she is reckless, headed straight for what Tissaia fears may be her demise. 

Tissaia knows that Yennefer has been an adult long enough that she is quite responsible for her own actions. She is more than capable of making her own decisions and owning up to them. None of this changes the fact that Tissaia feels an immense burden of responsibility for her once pupil.

The Rectoress has been on this Continent long enough to know there are some mistakes you cannot undo. There are some people you simply cannot change.

But she also knows, Yennefer is not one of them. 

No. Yennefer is destined to change this Continent. But in order to achieve such an end, she is going to have to change herself. 

Or at least allow Tissaia to help her. 

-

When Tissaia enters her office, Yennefer is seated on top of her desk. 

Tissaia pauses in her doorway for a brief second but doesn’t even blink as she moves to shut the door. 

“Welcome, piglet,” she says coolly. 

“Rectoress,” Yennefer replies in kind, lifting her chin in defiance despite using Tissaia’s title. 

Tissaia makes her way to her desk and Yennefer slides off to stand in front of her, blocking her path around. She exhales, meets Yennefer’s eyes and holds her gaze. “How may I help you?” 

“Well, if I recall I had an invitation, but if it was rescinded I can be on my way.”

Cheeky. She steps around Yennefer and sits down in her chair. 

“It has not.” She fills her pipe, lights it, takes a slow drag. Exhales. “The offer still stands. But are you certain you actually want to be back here at Aretuza?”

“Well I didn’t come all this way just to change my mind because you ask me to.”

Eyes narrow. Tissaia sets down her pipe gently and folds her hands, leaning forward. “If you truly wish to return to Aretuza, it will be on my terms, Yennefer. Not yours.”

Yennefer blinks, then smirks. 

She spreads her hands. “Lay it on me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tissaia isn’t ready for this and neither am I


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m not 100% happy with this, but thanks to bloodinthefields for all her help in my attempts to outline and bullshit my way through this. and thank you to everyone for bearing with me

-

Centuries of living upon this Continent have not prepared Tissaia de Vries for the amount of patience she requires when dealing with one inordinately defiant Yennefer of Vengerberg.

Truly, nothing in her life has tried her self restraint and her sanity as much as her rebellious former pupil. From the moment they sat down at Tissaia’s desk, Yennefer has been nothing short of infuriating. Tissaia holds back a sigh for what could be the tenth time, but continues to detail instructions for Yennefer’s new duties at Aretuza. For every stipulation, Yennefer has a rebuttal. The constant snide remarks are reminiscent of the days long ago that they were teacher and pupil, and could almost be endearing if it were not so annoying.

When Tissaia urged Yennefer to return, she knew that if the woman were to accept, the circumstances would be far different than they were so many decades ago now. They are no longer teacher and pupil, yet they are not quite peers; they lie somewhere in the vast gray area of colleague. Additionally, the complications of Yennefer’s obvious underlying attraction will make this situation sticky. Tissaia had been aware of it as the girl had undergone her studies, but imagined that it would pass with the time. 

If she learned anything in her brief visit to Rinde, however, it was that Yennefer’s desires had not diminished in any sense. They had only festered.

But Tissaia can resist this, despite the strange pull she also feels. She cares for Yennefer, deeply, but more than that, she wishes to see the mage finally freed from her own desires and demons. The woman is beautiful, so breathtakingly captivating. But rooted underneath the fierce exterior she puts on for everyone else, she is so very vulnerable, and she is volatile to the point that Tissaia fears that if Yennefer pushes herself too hard, too far, she will break in ways that Tissaia will not know how to fix.

Which is, in part, a reason that Tissaia does this.

“Surely you are joking,” Yennefer scoffs at Tissaia’s latest regulation. She has been idly playing with a roll of parchment on Tissaia’s desk, lips pursed. Now, however, she gives pause to scowl at her former mentor, who has of all things, just informed her that so long she remains at _Aretuza_ , the most magical place in the entirety of the Continent, she will not be permitted to use any magic.

“Indeed I am not,” Tissaia says with yet another sigh that she bites back. “These are my terms, Yennefer, whether or not you wish to accept them.”

Yennefer flicks the parchment and watches as it rolls across Tissaia’s desk, then says, “And what do you expect me to do without magic?” She reaches for the parchment again but Tissaia snatches it up, placing it out of reach and frowning at Yennefer. 

“Learn how to find the woman in the mirror without it.”

Yennefer barks out a laugh. “Is there a map you are going to provide me with or am I to find her somewhere in one of the many rooms here in Aretuza?” she inquires with a raised eyebrow. 

“Enough of your tongue,” the Rectoress snaps. “Do you want my help or not?” She rises from her desk and then she’s standing before Yennefer, hands clasped smartly in front of her, lips pressed into a thin line before she speaks once more, “If you are going to continue to be disrespectful and insincere, I’d much prefer you leave now and stop wasting my time.”

Yennefer stares a moment, her mouth hanging slightly open, before snapping it shut and pursing her lips slightly.

“Fine.”

-

The spell takes close to half an hour.

They stand in one of the caverns, where access to water is plentiful and magic flows freely. Yennefer is silent, for once, but her expressions speak more than loudly enough. As the minutes pass, she cycles through a many number of moods, from bored, to annoyed, to apprehensive. Tissaia pays her no mind as she circles around her, speaking incantations in Elder and tracing symbols unfamiliar to Yennefer. This will not be a spell the younger sorceress can undo on her own. 

Yennefer is watching the reflection of the water on the ceiling when the older sorceress comes to a stop in front of her. Tissaia observes as the spell takes effect, sees the exact moment that the connection to chaos is severed from Yennefer. Purple eyes widen with shock, a sharp intake of breath. 

She does not need to confirm with Yennefer that the spell has been effective. The surprise written on her face tells enough, if the lack of any evident chaos within her did not. Instead, she merely chooses to reaffirm their prior understanding, “The spell will be undone when I determine you are ready, and not one moment before.”

Yennefer’s eyebrows are drawn as she works her jaw, not in anger, but something more akin to bewilderment. It must be such a curious feeling, to be without chaos, for someone who was born with it flowing so freely through her veins.

After a few long minutes of silence, Yennefer seems to have finally regained her bearings, adjusting to the new sensation with a well placed and much familiar scowl. “Yes, thank you, once again, for reminding me for the fourth time,” she snaps.

The Rectoress does not flinch, merely steps forward until she is but a couple steps from touching Yennefer, eyes piercing. “We will get nowhere if you insist on being difficult for this duration, piglet.”

Yennefer has the decency to look at least a bit contrite. She lowers her eyes. 

Tissaia de Vries does not pity. She does not feel compassion for those who do not take responsibility for themselves and their own actions, but would rather criticize and blame. What she lacks in pity, however, she more than makes up for in regret. 

Chiefest among regrets with Yennefer was her failure to teach her better. For not realizing that the methods which she employed with her other pupils would not work quite the same on Yennefer, who needed more gentleness than Tissaia could give. Could she now? If she has the chance to teach Yennefer to balance the chaos in her soul before addressing the chaos in her blood, would a touch more tenderness have more effect than her typical callous instruction?

In a swift decisive moment, Tissaia steps forward, closer, placing her hand upon the woman’s cheek and gently nudging her upward so that deep purple eyes can meet icy blue ones. 

Yennefer cannot, must not know the extent of Tissaia’s care for her, but a simple touch must not be so awful, not when she has agreed to undergo such a degrading exercise. A mage without magic? There is little other humiliation. The effect is instantaneous. Yennefer’s breath catches almost imperceptibly, but it’s there. Her eyes are glued to Tissaia’s, her attention is rapt and intense.

Tissaia drops her hand, steps back, says, “You are always so full of hatred. For me, for the Brotherhood, for all that Aretuza stands for. For yourself. Why do you allow yourself to suffer?” 

Yennefer is quiet for a moment, she turns around as if this conversation will break her, before replying, “I’m used to this.”

This will not do. “And why have you allowed yourself to become used to this? You’ve grown accustomed to accepting the unacceptable. You would sooner endure and suffer through pain rather than conquer it. That isn’t strength, it’s making you weak.”

Yennefer whirls on her then, stalking forward to stand in Tissaia’s space, crowding, but Tissaia stays rigid and makes no movement other than to raise her chin to keep her narrowed and cold eyes locked with Yennefer’s fiery violet ones. “Oh, is that how you view me? Am I weak now, Tissaia de Vries?”

Rather than answer her question, Tissaia all but growls, “While you are here, piglet, you will not address me as though we are equals. Perhaps one day, outside these walls, but here and now, you are under my instruction, and I will not tolerate your disrespect any longer.”

“Is that what this is then? Am I back to being under your tutelage, _Rectoress_ ,” Yennefer snarls as she spits out the word. “Do you get off on ordering people around? Does that make you feel powerful, does it give you a high? Does it get you wet when you talk to someone as though they are beneath you? Not worthy of calling you by your name, hm?” 

Suddenly, Tissaia’s hand strikes Yennefer across the cheek and the taller woman staggers back a step. Tissaia’s nostrils flare as she watches Yennefer bring a hand up to her red cheek, cupping it gingerly and gaping at Tissaia in disbelief. The insolence has grown intolerable; Tissaia will not endure this. There have not been many times in her lengthy lifetime that she has physically struck someone. Her palm stings. Her pride stings more. She is affronted by Yennefer’s complete and utter disrespect, yet also ashamed that she has somehow stooped so low as to strike a woman in the face.

“Struck a nerve, have I?” Yennefer’s words would have more bite if they weren’t whispered.

Tissaia’s tone is frigid in return, “We will begin your disciplines tomorrow after the day’s classes are over.” And she walks away, leaving Yennefer with a different sort of chaos raging inside of her.

-


End file.
